


One Person's Strength is Another's Weakness

by Sohotthateveryonedied



Series: Batfamily Bingo [12]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Not In a Good Way - Freeform, Prompt: Random Powers, Protective Bruce Wayne, Superpowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:28:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25092385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sohotthateveryonedied/pseuds/Sohotthateveryonedied
Summary: Cass and Tim accidentally get powers from a magic-wielding villain. It turns out to be less of a blessing and more of a terrible,terriblecurse.
Relationships: Cassandra Cain & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne
Series: Batfamily Bingo [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1792990
Comments: 7
Kudos: 460





	One Person's Strength is Another's Weakness

**Author's Note:**

> Anon said: "For the requests; Tim and Cass being chaotic siblings with -Random Powers- please?"

Magic villains are the  _ worst.  _ Of that statement, Bruce has no doubts.   
  
_ “I’m really sorry, Bruce,”  _ Zatanna says through the video chat.  _ “I want to help you out, but I’m swamped with this crisis in Qurac and the earliest I can get to Gotham would be Friday.”  _ _   
_ _   
_ That's not  _ nearly _ fast enough, considering that today is Monday. Bruce tries not to let his desperation show. “Are there any other sorcerers you know who can help with this?”   
  
_ “Of the handful who are on our side? Only Constantine, but your odds of tracking him down before I get there are slim. Last I saw him was two months ago during a pub crawl slash extended pagan ritual in New Orleans.”  _ She shrugs.   
  
Bruce sighs and massages his temples. “Got it. We’re on our own.”   
  
_ “I’m really sorry.”  _ And he can tell that she means it. That doesn't make it easier to take, though.   
  
“It’s...fine. We’ll manage somehow.”   
  
_ “Good luck, Bruce.” _   
  
“Yeah.” Bruce ends the call there so she can’t see him slump in defeat, utterly drained. He was counting on Zatanna to get them out of this pickle, so the fact that she won’t be here for several days is...not great.  _ None  _ of this situation is great, really, but especially not that part.   
  
How can Cass and Tim be expected to last four days like this? How will they even last  _ one? _   
  
Speaking of, he should get back to the med bay and see how they’re holding up. Bruce can’t imagine it’s any fun being stuck in their situation as it is—not to mention after Bruce breaks the news that they will have to endure this for longer than the next couple of hours like he promised them.   
  
Tim is missing by the time Bruce gets there, which is mildly concerning. Cass and Dick have stayed, still wearing their uniforms sans the masks like Bruce is. Alfred must be preparing supper upstairs. Dick is holding a potted marigold up to a reluctant Cass.   
  
“Here,” he’s saying. “Just a little experiment.”   
  
Cass is frowning, but she does as directed and touches the petals with the same care as if she were petting a butterfly. As soon as her fingertips make contact the flower begins to wilt, its petals and leaves turning black as if her touch is acid.   
  
Dick raises his eyebrows. “Yep. I have deduced that you, Cassandra Cain, are poisonous.”   
  
She gives him a  _ no shit, dummy  _ look, but Bruce can feel her anxiety from here. Ever since she accidentally killed one of the cave’s bats that landed on her shoulder when they arrived, Cass has kept her distance from everyone in a way she hasn’t in years. Every person in her proximity makes her shrink away like they’re dangerous, even though  _ she  _ is actually the danger to  _ them. _   
  
“Where did Tim go?” Bruce asks, looking around. Last he saw him, Tim was sitting on the cot next to Cass, holding his ears and groaning through curses.   
  
Dick shrugs. “He ran off a little while ago. I tried following him but he said I’m too loud.” He looks as lost as Bruce feels. And really, it figures that Tim and Cassie would wind up with the lousiest powers they could possibly get. That’s just their luck. Bruce wants desperately to hug Cass, to comfort Tim, to do something  _ useful,  _ but he’s as powerless against this awful predicament as they are.   
  
“Zatanna?” Cass says with veiled hope.   
  
Bruce shakes his head. “Five or six days, at least. I’m sorry.”    
  
Cass nods in resignation, crossing her arms tightly and leaning even further away from Dick.   
  
“It’s going to be okay,” Bruce says despite not knowing if there’s a shred of truth to it. It's better than nothing, right? He’d put a hand on her shoulder if he could. “It won’t be that long. Trust me, everything will be fine.”   
  
  


* * *

  
  
Bruce doesn’t sleep that night. He doesn’t imagine that Cass or Tim do, either.  
  
In the morning he comes downstairs for coffee to jump-start his sluggish brain and finds Cass sitting at the island, looking as miserable as he left her the day before. A plate of dead, shriveled strawberries sits in front of her like they’re taunting her with their lifeless existence.   
  
She’s wearing a cinched-tight sweatshirt and long leggings, as opposed to her usual tank top and shorts. Can’t risk the skin contact, what with the way her ability worked through the thin fabric of her Black Bat suit yesterday.  
  
Damian is at the other end of the island, far away from Cass and holding Alfred the cat in a tight grip. The cat has a routine of sitting on Cass’ lap for breakfast every morning to purr in exchange for table scraps, but that can’t happen now, for obvious reasons. Bruce wishes he could hug Cass, or at the very least stroke her hair the way she likes.   
  
What’s a father for if he can’t even comfort his daughter when she’s sick? (Okay, well, Tim and Cass are not really sick. But they’re not healthy either.)  
  
Bruce stays a good five feet away from Cass and drinks his coffee. “Good morning,” he greets them both.   
  
“Morning, Father,” Damian says. It’s a miracle that Alfred doesn’t scratch him as he fits a pink ribbon around the cat’s scruffy neck.  
  
Cass tips her head in Bruce’s direction—her version of a greeting—and pops a dead strawberry in her mouth.  
  
“How are you holding up?”  
  
She holds up her hands pointedly. “Hate this.”  
  
Bruce can’t imagine what it must be like as someone who relies on touch almost as much as Dick does, now unable to give so much as a high-five out of fear that the recipient will drop dead.  
  
“What about gloves?” he suggests. “Surely there must be something that works.”  
  
Cass shrugs. “Alfred’s...working on it.”  
  
At least there's that. Hopefully Alfred finds something that does the job so at least Cass won't have to spend the week _completely_ miserable. Or Tim, for that matter. Speaking of whom— “Has anyone seen Tim yet this morning?”   
  
Damian shakes his head and scratches behind Alfred’s ear. “Drake won’t let anyone within ten feet of him.”  
  
Bruce gulps down the rest of his coffee and, with an aborted pat on Cass’ head that he replaces with what is hopefully a comforting wave, Bruce goes to Tim’s room.  
  
He knocks on the door but Tim doesn’t answer, so Bruce takes that as an excuse to barge in. (He's a good father, he swears. Just...a concerned one.) The room is dark, but—being a man most acquainted with pitch blackness—Bruce’s eyes adjust quickly and land on Tim who is curled in a ball on his bed. He’s wearing noise-canceling headphones but they don’t appear to be helping anything if the dried tears on his cheeks and his sweaty forehead are any indication.  
  
Bruce steps closer, but Tim shakes his head without opening his eyes. “Go away,” he says. “Please.”  
  
Bruce tries to keep his mind clear as he approaches the bed. “I just wanted to see if you’re okay.”  
  
“Do I look like I’m okay?” He really doesn’t. In fact, it looks like he didn’t sleep a wink last night. Tim snorts. “Can’t imagine why.”  
  
Oh, yeah. Bruce needs to stop thinking. “How bad is it?”  
  
“Oh, you know,” Tim says with a weak laugh. “Fine. Every mind in Gotham is just trying to bash my skull in, no biggie. In case you were wondering, Alfred’s listening to opera, Dick is stalking Chris Hemsworth’s Instagram, Steph is trying to figure out the difference between ‘toward’ and ‘towards,’ and Jason’s brain is so fucked up it makes _Arkham inmates_ look sane.”  
  
Bruce doesn't entirely know what to do with all of that information. “So...very bad.”  
  
“Very, _very_ bad.” Tim presses the headphones tighter against his ears as if it will help, which it won’t. “Yeah, I fucking _know that,”_ he snarls.  
  
If Bruce were anyone else he would flinch. Tim’s never been abrasive before— _especially_ not to Bruce. The headache must be unbearable for him to react this way.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Tim says. “I didn't mean that. I’m an asshole right now.”  
  
“It’s—”  
  
“No, it’s not okay. I just...it feels like I’m going insane. I don’t know how much longer I can take this, Bruce.” Tim’s face is half hidden in his pillow but Bruce can see enough to recognize the pained crinkle in his eyebrows. “I can hear... _everything._ I can hear fucking everything.” He closes his eyes, swallowing hard.  
  
Bruce is at a loss. “What can I do to help?”  
  
“I already took as many painkillers as Alfred would give me and it hasn’t done a thing. Just...gotta wait it out until Zatanna can come and help.” Tim opens one tired eye. “Cass is feeling pretty lousy right now too. You should go.”  
  
“I don’t feel very comfortable leaving you alone right now.”  
  
“Bruce, that was my nice way of saying that you being this close is _excruciatingly_ painful to me. _Please_ go.”  
  
Right. Of course. Bruce is doing more harm than good being here. Part of him wants to tell Tim again how much he wishes he could help, but Tim already knows. He knows all of Bruce’s unspoken thoughts as soon as he thinks them, so Bruce doesn’t bother as Tim puts his pillow over his head, shutting out the world which insists on invading anyway.   
  
Bruce pats his shoulder and goes.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Alfred manages to find some thick gloves that Cass can wear so she doesn’t accidentally murder anyone with a fist bump, which is a relief to all. However, she still refuses to take a risk with turtlenecks, long pants, and socks that leave no gap exposing her ankle. It’s saddening to watch her lose her glow like this. For the first time since Bruce has met her, Cass is uncomfortable in her body.  
  
She’s always been so sure of herself. Even when language failed her, Cassandra has always had her body to rely on. She could _trust_ her body, no matter what.   
  
Now she can’t do anything of the things she used to—sparring, crime fighting, hugging her family—it’s all been stolen from her. Bruce imagines for Cass it’s comparable to losing a limb, but at least then she would still have the option of touching another person without draining their life force on the spot. She can’t even go out on patrol now, which has been her emotional crutch for who knows how long. She’s _stuck._  
  
And Tim isn’t faring much better. The kid hardly leaves his room except to come out for food and painkillers that don’t work. He’s distracted all the time, pummeled every second of every day by a cacophony of thoughts that aren’t his own.  
  
Bruce called J’onn and M’gann for help yesterday to see if they could protect Tim’s mind from the chaos, but blocking a mind from psychic probing is a cakewalk. Shutting off the one _doing_ the probing is a different thing entirely, one which they could not accomplish. Just like Cass, Tim will have to wait until Zatanna arrives to be freed from his new...affliction. Neither of them is having fun, and from now on Bruce has a solid answer for whenever a Justice League member asks if Bruce would ever want a superpower. _Hell_ _no._  
  
It’s on Thursday when they have their first (and only) incident, which would be a considerable success in any other situation.  
  
It’s not Duke’s fault. He tripped. It happens—especially when Damian leaves the rug askew in his mad sprint to beat Dick to the car for the arcade. And it’s not Cass’ fault that her instinct is to grab his arm and stop his fall. It’s _no one’s fault._  
  
That doesn’t stop Bruce’s heart from bursting out of his chest when, as the world moves in slow motion, frame by frame, it occurs to him that Cass isn’t wearing her gloves. She took them off to eat pizza earlier and hasn’t put them back on yet.  
  
“Cass, no!”  
  
As soon as she makes contact Cass seems to realize what’s happening, as does Duke, who jerks away like her touch is a red-hot poker.   
  
_“Duke.”_ Bruce grabs his arm and turns it this way and that, heart pounding. “Did she touch you?”  
  
“No, she j-just got my sleeve, I think.” Duke is shaking, but his eyes stay locked on Cass. Bruce follows his gaze. In the half a second since she let go, Cass has made it all the way across the room, as far away from Duke as she could get. She watches the pair now, eyes horrified.  
  
Every plant and bug that Cass has touched since being cursed has died within ten seconds. It’s been at least fifteen now, and Duke is still standing. Bruce doesn't relax. “You’re _sure_ you’re okay?”  
  
“Yeah. I’m fine.” Duke says it to Bruce but he’s looking at Cass. “See? No harm done.” He takes a step toward Cass, but before he can take another she’s already gone, fleeing deeper into the manor.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Zatanna arrives right on time, and yet it feels too late given how worn out everyone is from this mess. She goes to Tim first.   
  
He’s looking worse for wear when they find him—still cooped up in his room, big surprise—and any time someone gets close it looks like he wants to claw off his skin and run away. It doesn’t take long for Zatanna to undo the spell, thankfully. One touch to his forehead and a little chanting does the trick. Tim slumps, his eyes closing in relief as the voices filter out and leave behind blessed silence.   
  
_ “Thank  _ you,”  he says with a sigh. He’s asleep less than ten seconds later, thoroughly exhausted after a week of agony. Bruce can’t blame him. They leave him to sleep it off and make their way to Cassandra’s room.   
  
This spell happens even quicker than the last, which makes Bruce wonder how such awful “powers” could be solved so simply with a bit of magic.   
  
“Pretty sure that did the trick,” Zatanna says once her eyes stop glowing. "You're poison-free now, Cass."   
  
“You're absolutely sure?” Bruce asks. “Because this isn’t the kind of thing I would like to take a risk on.”   
  
“Trust me, I’m certain of it. There’s no trace of magic in her now.”   
  
Relief rolls over Bruce in waves. He steps forward, but Cass backs away, hands tucked close to her chest. She’s scared—he can see it in her eyes.   
  
“It’s okay,” Bruce assures her. “You won't hurt me, I promise.” He slowly, _slowly_ reaches out and takes her ungloved hand in his. Cass flinches, expecting the worst, but a moment passes and Bruce feels no closer to death than he did before. “See? It’s all right. It’s over.”   
  
Releasing a deep breath, Cass lurches up to hug him for the first time in a week. Everything is as it should be.

**Author's Note:**

> [Feel free to mosey on down to my Tumblr!](http://sohotthateveryonedied.tumblr.com/)


End file.
